Grindhouse

(Backlash)
 
If you run, you must run in full formation,
From afar all the bodies will be twirling,
But then you’ll have a new appreciation,
When a tornado of souls goes out whirling.
 
Listen carefully to the audio,
You can hear the loud surprised crowd screaming,
You think you can run, how’s your cardio?
Keep up because they are really teaming.
 
You think it’s easy? That it’s all fun and games,
Your heart will race like it’s never done before,
Try to keep your composure within the frames,
Then the screamers will want to see some more.
 
Are you good enough? Can you make out the spots?
It’s coming near when you hear those fast bass splits,
Then the percussive attack with those rimshots,
Is bound to signal the rapid massive blitz.
 
Look at the bodies go, cut up in diamonds,
Breaking apart then coming together again,
Cut perfectly by sound, drill design and
An arrangement that was carefully planned.
 
The brass will kick your ass if you’re not well suited,
It’s best to be in the stands with a viewfinder,
It’s a beautiful drill when it’s executed,
When the bodies go into the meatgrinder.

It is not a pretty thing..
or any kind of delicate cling
.... the scent of rose hips to pink skin
.... the new morning dew drop
To blade of grass, bent from it....

But more like the red shade
One might see..
Across two yellowed tooth’s
Jagged and arching from a mauvened grin
 ... teeth like a menacing and red smeared
Ancient ivory and bone menagerie
...
And pouring stink
Pouring stink

It is red and clings and dries to bone
..... and
The bone was used to unleash it

A torrent spill
From whack and grotesque thud
Until....

Whack and whack and grotesque thud
And death dump thump

And the life
And the life
And the...... life
She, ...

A lesser spill..
she does not breathe...
I .... over kill

I over kill..
To hollow her out
Her skull .. brainless skull

To hollow me out

The spill
She slows to stop and I...
find belladonna’d glaze of eyes
Find stillness in the red cementing of fate..
See art in its red and drying state......

Red smears on tooth’s
Like a cold boned menagerie
Like a Grand Monet
In my own private gallery

...

I think I have more
More fire to light
More poems to write
One more for tonight
I've worked out the kinks
This prose will be tight
Well not all the kinks
My balls crave a bite
I sit on my ass
Cheeks leaving a mark
I breathe in the grass
I love this new park
I catch a few eyes
They can't help but wander
I cow brand my thighs
It makes the crowd ponder
Why oh why,
Would a young lad adore this
My nuts store passion
They do not store piss
I move the hot iron from leg to my cock
In the same breathe I crush sack with rock
The juices pour out liked freshly squeezed orange
When I go home, I'm using my door hinge
To further the damage
Dealt to my dong
It feels so right,
Yet it looks so wrong

That java place on the corner still does things the old fashioned
way, I hear, though no first hand accounts exist to confirm it.
The fat cats go in the front door, the ones that go in the back
way they call hits, lets just say there's more than caffiene hits
being dispensed in a pour. A lump or two is a sweet finish.
You bring them star notes, they call it a 'starbuck',
some calling card for more 'percs'. They can't amount
to more than a hill of roasted beans if you ask me.

I heard Joe owed them money, they put the press to him.
To the business, everyone's a Joe, most are single origin,
there's plenty of those around. They're famous for their
red velvet cup, heart drawn in it.  The old timer who
sits out front swears by it, says it's like a meal.
He smiles with a glint in his eye boasting of his
wife's kidney pie and his brown bag of bone meal
for his rooftop garden.  The guy's on the inside.

There's more than one bitter pot steeping,
but what's brewing inside that place will get you
steamed, and the lemon rind twists won't be
the only thing to make you pucker up.  Their
grinding machine only has one setting, it's
so antiquated, it has a hand crank with a big screw.
The loud screams are enough to curdle cream.

You gotta figure, knuckle sandwiches aren't enough
to move product, you gotta use the whole cow,
the blood is a perfect by-product.  They also
own a butcher shop, best sausages in town
if that's up your alley, just don't go down that
alley, only drips fall for that.  The grounds
won't leave an aroma.  

              .....